


a stroke of luck

by vexahlla



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Critical Role: Wildemount Campaign (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, episode one spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexahlla/pseuds/vexahlla
Summary: Caleb really should’ve taken divination in order to see how this one conversation would’ve spiraled down into a whole lot of somethings.





	a stroke of luck

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! been a fucking while since i've written for critical role? anyway i stan caleb widoDAD and i would die for him thanks!
> 
> (a little character study i wanna try with widodad and his thoughts on the widocast)

So, maybe last night wasn’t one of their best nights.

And maybe it isn’t alright, but they’ll scrape by if they have to--and they usually have to.

And maybe he’s felt like he hasn’t sleep in a week - which, really, he hasn’t - and maybe he’s a little grouchy and a whole lotta filthy but at least they’re alive.

The sound of coins falling against the wooden table of the inn they’re staying act doesn’t quite catch his attention like the half-orc seated at said table, glancing around the entirety of the inn with a scrutinizing gaze since they’ve got pretty much the attention of any money-grubber in this small town. Nott’s eyes are wide under her hood, that grin that feels like hope spreading across her face.

Well, not taking into account the fact that there’s an incredibly handsome half-orc looking like he’s ready to stab anyone who gets close enough Caleb might look like that too. Nott starts talking about how to get the money from them and it’s all Caleb can do to roll his eyes.

“You know,” whispers an accented voice next to them, the voice belonging to a blue lady, “you should _really_ take a bath.”

Caleb really should’ve taken divination in order to see how this one conversation would’ve spiraled down into a whole lot of somethings.

The flamboyant parade should’ve tossed him off guard with its dazzling dancers and the loud musicians playing a fine tune, Mollymauk - the lavender tiefling that caused a stir in their little “group” earlier - twirling sounds around and causing a scene. Caleb thinks he’s better at the fake fortune telling than he is at the sword twirling, but he’s learned to keep his mouth shut over the years.

The traveling caravan of curiosities. Oh what wonders will wish for them to see.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” mumbles Nott, worriedly looking between Caleb and Frumpkin who follows at his feet. “Frumpkin’s not gonna die, are they?”

“Satisfaction brought it back, Nott,” he replies. “‘Sides, Frumpkin’s a magical cat.”

Nott looks up at him. “And a real cat.”

“Same thing.”

She frowns, following in his shadow. For any simple glance, it would look like a father and his daughter just going to see the circus. Caleb intends to keep it that way. Gods know he doesn’t need any other prying eyes than the ones he’s got so far. Or the one.

Fjord is walking alongside him, with Beau on his side; they mirror Caleb and Nott, but Fjord’s casting a mighty glance down at him. His head tilts down at the wizard, keeping his gaze. “Family heirlooms, eh?”

“Yeah?” Caleb raises an eyebrow. He didn’t show any interest before. “The books are invaluable.”

Fjord huffs out a laugh, a tilt to his lips at the edges. “Oh, yeah sure. Was talking about the books.”

And he leaves it at that, looking away from the now-confused wizard and returning to the conversation between Jester and Beau: the tiefling and monk desperately trying to plead with the enforcer on trying to keep their weapons. Caleb glances warily at him, before the tug on his hand returns him back down to reality below.

“They’re not gonna take our-”

“Weapons, please.” Yasha sounds incredibly dull and bored and like she definitely doesn’t want to be here. Another look at Jester. “It’s the rules.”

“But, you know we could be deputy bouncers!” argues Beau. “You could be in charge of me, like a boss. Then she sounds a little desperate, and a little not so focused on the circus. “Do you wanna be in charge of me?”

“Either you hand me your weapons so I can hold onto them, or you aren’t seeing the show,” Yasha replies, deadpan.

“Think we’re gonna be okay?” Nott asks him, the mask pulled all the way back down over her face once more. She’s tapping her foot nervously. “I mean, that’s gonna be a lot of people.”

“We’ll be fine,” he assures her with a gentle tone. “Just--just be a normal girl for once, yeah? Enjoy the circus, clap and laugh along. Leave the worrying to me.”

“You always worry,” mumbles Nott. “But I don’t wanna give up my weapon.”

Caleb nods. “Gotta if we wanna see the show.”

“Says you, magicky man,” mumbles Nott, again.

Yasha clears her throat, standing before the two of them now. “Weapons?”

He hands over his single dagger. Not like he uses it ever. Nott hands over her shortbow, tries and fails to hide her crossbow. Her apology to the enforcer is meek, passing over both sword and crossbow over to her.

Caleb shakes his head. “You need to lay low,” he says simple and flat. “Be a little girl for a while, yeah?”

Nott sighs, relenting, and nods her head -- it’s for their own safety, he tells her. She must not be too mad because she spots his entry fee and nudges his leg with a grin when they get to the front row seats.

The lights begin to dim as the music begins to pick up, a somber melody that plays above the crowd; a man plays the violin effortlessly, hanging from a rope with one of his feet, and continues to play the melody as he lands. It’s beautiful, a nice tune that has him tapping his fingers against his pants, following along. No magic is being used that’s for certain, not the kind he’s used to at least.

Nott looks happy, enamored by it. That’s all he wants.

The sisters of the fey, the struggle of the underworld. Halflings, the Knot sisters. They dance and twirl around this pole as a single entity, hanging onto each other as their life depends on it, they twirl and twirl, grasping and climbing and moving ever upwards; the music follows with him, rising in pitch as they ascend the pole. Higher and higher they climb, louder the music plays.

The dance finishes, the performers fallen back to the ground. Applause erupts from all around them, and even he sheds a few tears he didn’t notice. The dancers leave and the music changes: ominous, foreboding. The precipice. Something or someone is going to fall, Caleb thinks with narrowed eyes, watching the woman with fiery red hair attack shadows with luminescence.

If only he could beat back his own shadows like that.

A monster appears on the main floor now. “What truth lies behind the eyes of this beast?” cries the headmaster, as the darkly dressed fiddler pulls along the chains.

“Y’know,” Nott points out, tugging on his hand again, “that looks a little like you in the morning.”

“Gee, thanks Nott,” says Caleb, deadpan.

A young girl stands on the higher ledges of the stage in a pearl-white dress. Caleb nudges Nott. “If I’m the monster, then that’s you.”

Either Nott doesn’t hear him or is too enamored by the singing of the girl, her voice as light as a feather, her melody carrying the feeling of home that nestles within his chest. For the first time, he finds himself at peace in the middle of a crowd.

The monster stops pulling against his chains as the girl’s voice carries throughout the tent, her voice filling the air as the crowd gasps, hearts stopping. He finds himself holding his breath as well, watching his half-wonder half-concern as the monster moves, stopping at the pole that holds the young girl above. Her voice does not waver at all, and despite knowing this is an act, he finds himself a little proud.

But with like all the peace Caleb has ever known in his life, it ends quickly as it came.

An old man ruins the sole chance of a normal night that Nott could’ve known, writing and screaming out in pain and--

“Gods above,” he winces as Nott’s singing voice - so horribly, horribly, _horribly_ out of tune - attempts to soothe the creature, just like the other girl did before. Oh, he realizes dully, she _did_ hear him earlier.

He ducks into the crowd for protection, even though he is hyper-aware of Nott’s position the whole time, always keeping it tracked in his mind. His mind and hand conjure the ice cold chromatic orb, sending it forth towards the zombified creature.

At least the screams of the crowd burn out the horrible tune Nott tried to carry earlier, and he has at least three seconds to right himself before he’s trampled by the men, women, and other people that are desperate to flee.

Caleb casts his magic, Nott shoots from her crossbow, Yasha swings a great sword, and Beau kills things with her fist. The others did a lot of things as well, but he’s mostly focused on keeping the two of them - actually, that’s not true - keeping _all_ of them alive at this point. He’s got a bad habit of worrying over others.

A not-so-small battle ends just as quickly as it began, two creatures lying dead in the middle of a tent; guards rushing in from both ends of the tent. They barely escape arrest (again), save for poor old Molly and the circus crew. Investigation is worse, though, for them. Nott’s going to be in a lot of trouble if they come knocking on their door.

“We’re not gonna get in trouble, are we?” Nott asks him, looking nervous as he feels. “I thought we were helping, y’know! But we--we did help, didn’t we?”

He nods. “Yeah, we helped. It’s just a bit weird this time.”

“Yeah no telling! We didn’t even get paid! How am I gonna pay for my drinks with no coin!” Nott huffs.

“Do you want me to give you some of my coin?” Caleb asks her, seriously.

“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell, I mean if you’re offering… I won’t say no.”

He tosses her three silver. “Don’t go crazy.”

“Ooh, can I have some too?” Jester asks, leaning over his shoulder and sporting a wide and innocent grin, despite her eyes being trained on his coin pouch. “For charity?” She blinks innocently.

“Didn’t you just get paid-”

“Ahem,” Fjord clears his throat. “Weather’s mighty fine, I know, but I reckon we’re gonna get even more weird stares standin’ out here in the middle of the road for the rest of the night.”

“Back to the inn?” asks Beau, looking exhausted and heavily leaning on her staff when they’re finally left alone.

“Back to the inn,” says both Fjord and Caleb at the same time.

Damn him and his habits. Caleb clears his throat. “Sorry, didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, you’re fine-”

“Woohoo, more drinks! Ooh, Beau do you want to get some pastries with me?”

“Yeah, we can get your pastries--hey, don’t drag me! I can’t walk this fast!”

“Kids,” huffs Fjord, glancing over his shoulder then back to Caleb.

He nods, bit a smile on his lips. “Kids,” he agrees. “See you back at the inn.”

“Mhm.”

“Drinks! Drinks! Drinks!” chants Nott, easily taking up Fjord’s place as the half-orc jogs after his companions. The two of them begin a brisk walk back to the inn, and Caleb desperately tries to push the night’s events out of his mind. “D’ya wanna drink with me?”

There’s a smile on her face, and Caleb’s a sucker for keeping her happy. “Sure.” Her grin grows wider and he adds: “But we’re not going overboard.”

“Definition of overboard?”

“Nott.”

“‘Cause there’s like, two drinks overboard, or a whole keg and-”

“ _Nott._ ”

“Or there’s the coin-purse overboard, it just depends on what ya mean by overboard!”

Caleb sighs heavily. For the first time in a while, he thinks they’ll be alright, no matter what.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [tumblr](http://umbralcalamity.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/umbralcalamity)
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


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